


I will set my soul on fire

by DJoftheCoven



Category: BLURRYFACE - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Bad Poetry, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJoftheCoven/pseuds/DJoftheCoven
Summary: Told from Tyler's perspective.





	I will set my soul on fire

There’s something inherently beautiful about fire. The way that it flickers in and out of existence faster than the eye can see is fascinating, hypnotic. I like the way that it burns. 

My hand strains on my paper as I write with it. All I can see behind my eyes is fire. The imprint of wood, smoke, and burning. It soothes me the same way that it makes me agonize. 

My hand cramps. I clutch it and keep writing. I need to get the fire out of my head. It’s too much for my body to hold. I need it out. It needs to be out. Out. Out. The paper can get it out, so I use it like a shovel. I dig through my psyche and rip myself to shreds. Just let me stop burning. 

Tears spring to my eyes, cascading down my face in bubbly rivulets. There’s nothing on my paper. Blank sheets are flowing over my desk and pile over on the floor. There’s nothing to prove for my work. Just one page, drenched in ink. My handwriting is poor. I hate it. The page is covered but there’s nothing there. I ball it up and chuck it at the piles behind me. 

The fire in my mind is sweeping. All of my insides are slowly being tortured to charred remains. I fuel the fire when I breathe, and I choke on the smoke it creates. 

Nothing comes to me when I rip out a new page in my notebook. The lines confuse me. Rows and rows of my own words are nothing but gibberish. They’re barely intelligible. Who would read these? 

My tears win our battle of wills and I sink to my knees, screaming. Wretched sobs tear through my vocal cords. I know that I’m going to regret it tomorrow when I can’t talk, but I can’t stop the broken words from pouring through my body. 

Hands covered in ink, my mouth fills with blood, and I see red and black mingle on white paper. My tears do nothing to put out the fire in my soul. I need water. The kitchen feels too far away as I try stumble downstairs. Water might help me just a little bit. I’ll try anything at this point. 

Red keeps pouring down to my throat, blurring at the edges through my budding tears. I can’t see anything but black, white, and red. It’s swallowing me up. Smoke billows through my hair and I collapse to my knees. 

When I feel coherent again, I’m next to the bathtub. It’s filled with blissfully clear water. 

I tear off my clothes, desperately fling myself at the basin. I can’t tell if it’s warm or cold. I just want it to wash me off. I don’t know how I got here or why, and I don’t care. It just needs to stop me for long enough to breathe. 

The water almost starts to boil with the strength of my fever. In a sudden flash of madness, I want to break everything that I can see until my pain goes away. I don’t do that, but I do reach out to the drawer by the bathroom sink. 

Once I feel the drag of the knife on my skin, it feels like I’m ALIVE again. The sting feels so good and I want to drown myself in it. I can feel my lifeforce flickering. Yes. I want it to spark and DIE. 

Red blooms through the water, swirling like the fire that I wanted so desperately to get rid of. It looks like a field of roses against my pain-racked body. 

There’s so much burning away into nothing, being taken by concepts that no longer exist. My mind is dead. It staggers to the ground. My blood is ink, my ink was my blood, it poured out through my wrists until I had written poetry. 

But unlike ruby hair, cherry eyes, and crimson lips, this rust colored love will never see the light of day again.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was going through some of my old folders on Word when I found this kind of diary entry (I imagined "myself" as Tyler though) that I wrote a few months ago. I decided to post it here to clear my conscience a little bit. Hope someone likes it! It's very real emotion. Stay alive frens. II-//


End file.
